


A Graveyard of Stars

by charlottelennox



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Body Horror, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Internalized Fatphobia, Overuse of the word 'cry', Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Resurrection kind of, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Thor (Marvel)-centric, Thor Cries A Lot, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottelennox/pseuds/charlottelennox
Summary: Post-Endgame. Thor has been traveling with the Guardians for awhile, but he's not really doing much better. Impulsively, he decides that the way to find closure is to find Loki's body and give Loki a funeral. He sets out on a journey to memorialize his brother, with a lot of depressing self-reflection along the way, only to find that Loki isn't actually dead.
Relationships: Loki & Thor (Marvel), Thor & Guardians Of The Galaxy Team, Thor and His Own Inner Pain
Comments: 56
Kudos: 311





	A Graveyard of Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [100indecisions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/100indecisions/gifts).



> @thelightofthingshopedfor (100indecisions) sent me this prompt: _Post-Endgame, Thor goes back for Loki's body and finds him frozen but not actually dead._
> 
> I didn't plan for this to be so long, but here we are. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Loki's only in like 25% of this story. This largely became something of a character exploration exercise for me, so there's a lot of Thor's inner monologue and not a ton of action. I also didn't do a very good job with the whump - but, I hope you like it anyway.

The idea starts with fire. 

Thor sits with Rabbit and Tree on some nowhere planet, on the outskirts of a nowhere galaxy, as far from Earth - and New Asgard - as it is possible to get. He sits with Rabbit and Tree near the campfire they’d made to warm them for the night. 

It’s quiet, aside from the sounds of evening settling into night. Crickets chirp, flies buzz. The dirt crunches beneath Quill’s boots as he moves around, setting up his sleeping roll. Rabbit plays with some gadget that makes a  _ whirring _ noise. 

The fire crackles. 

Thor watches the flames dance, watches tiny orange embers glow like fireflies. It reminds him of a funeral pyre, how warriors’ bodies were set aflame and adrift, their souls released to Valhalla. 

There was never a funeral for Loki. Not in all the times he died. 

Thor still can’t think of his brother without crying. There’s a Loki-shaped scar on Thor’s heart and it bleeds when he presses down. Thor has learned to avoid it so as not to irritate it. As long as he does not think of Loki at all - neither to mourn him nor to miss him - he is okay. 

It is when he feels the most lonely that he finds himself picking at it. In his loneliness, it brings him some measure of comfort to remember the sound of Loki’s laughter, warm yet mischievous. He likes to remember Loki’s face when he laughed and the sparkle in Loki’s emerald-colored eyes. 

Inevitably, however, these thoughts lead him to remember Loki’s _ last  _ smile: soft and genuine, a sheepish tilt of the lips as he’d looked from their window on the  _ Statesman _ over to Thor and then back again. 

_ I feel like everything’s gonna work out fine. _

Thor’s own words haunt him almost as much as Loki’s smiles does. For it had only been moments later when that wretched ship rose from the depths of space and there was barely space to breathe before all hell broke loose. 

That’s when Thor tries to  _ stop _ thinking of Loki, although by the time he remembers  _ Sanctuary II, _ it’s already too late. His brain fixates on the hardly-scabbed-over memories of blood and fire. The way Loki looked at him while  _ Odinson _ hung in the air between them. 

The way Loki struggled. 

The sound of his neck snapping. 

The thud of his corpse, tossed to the ground like garbage.

“Hey.” Rabbit pokes Thor’s side, hard. Thor flinches. “You okay?” 

“Fine. Why?” 

“You’re getting all weepy again.” Rabbit turns back to his gadget, as if he can’t care less about Thor’s emotional state. “Groot was worried.” 

“I am Groot,” says Tree. “I am Groot, I _ am  _ Groot.”  _ I was not. I didn’t even notice.  _

“Oh, stop trying to play it cool,” Rabbit snaps, slapping the back of Tree’s head. 

“I am  _ Groot, _ ” Tree shoots back.  _ Ow!  _

Thor is fine, but he can’t help the tears. They often spill over without his noticing; they slide down his cheeks and into his beard and they make no difference to him. 

His tears make the Guardians uncomfortable, though.  _ Thor _ makes them uncomfortable, and certainly he knows it, but that makes no real difference to him, either. 

He rubs his face and then reaches out, passing his fingers through the open flame just to remind himself of where he is. Sometimes, when he can’t stop his thoughts in time, a burn here or a cut there is enough to bring him back. 

Thor’s skin is so durable, though, it takes a couple of minutes to burn. He trails his fingers through the flames. “I’m fine,” he says again, cutting Rabbit off in the middle of whatever he was saying to Tree. “Just thinking.” 

“That’s not good for you,” Quill cuts in, which makes Thor jump. Quill is not exactly stealthy, yet Thor often forgets he’s there anyway. 

“What isn’t?” The fire finally burns, and Thor draws his hand back before the tattered edges of his fingerless gloves can catch flame.

“For one thing, sticking your hand in the fire,” Quill retorts, although he does not sound as alarmed as he had the first time he’d witnessed Thor do something like this. He only sounds annoyed. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” 

“I’m Asgardian.” Thor meant it to explain why he could burn himself if he wanted to, although now that he thought about it,  _ I’m Asgardian  _ probably also answered the question of what was wrong with him. 

“Doesn’t mean you’re not also a dumbfuck. That aside, though, I meant thinking too much.” Quill taps his forehead with one finger. “Gotta turn off the old noggin, you know?”

“Easy for you to say,” Rabbit remarks, before Thor can reply. “Seriously,  _ really _ easy for you to say. Your noggin’s turned off so often, there’s gotta be cobwebs on it by now.” 

Quill places his hands on his hips. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” 

“I am Groot,” says Tree.  _ It means you’re stupid.  _

“Hey,” Quill protests. “Uncalled for.” 

Rabbit laughs. 

It’s all very typical. Thor wonders what Loki would have made of the Guardians, had he lived long enough to cross paths with them. Very likely, Loki would dismiss them all as morons, and he wouldn’t be wrong. Unlike Thor, though, he wouldn’t find it endearing. 

The tears are mostly gone by now. 

“Give me one of those,” he says to Quill, who’s sat down and pulled a beer from one of their packs. “Please.” 

Quill arches an eyebrow, but he obeys. He tosses the bottle in his hand to Thor, who manages to catch it despite an embarrassing fumble, and pulls another out of the pack for himself. 

“Sure that’s a good idea?” Quill asks. 

Thor cracks open the bottle. He has vowed to stop drinking, but some days are more successful than others. 

After Thanos was defeated - finally and  _ truly  _ defeated - there had been something like clarity for Thor; the world had, very simply, begun to make a modicum of sense again. 

At the time, Thor thought that he was healed. The dusted had returned and Thanos was thoroughly wiped from existence, and didn’t that make things right again? Didn’t it balance the scales, taking some of the weight of blame off of Thor’s so very exhausted shoulders? 

It had felt like a bucket of freezing ice water being dumped over his warm, sluggish brain. It was a shock to his system, everything around him thrown into sharp relief. For the first time in years, Thor felt like he could  _ breathe  _ again. He was healed, he was cured. 

Thanos was dead, and Thor could finally live. 

It had lasted maybe a week. 

Then the euphoria of victory faded. Loss settled back into his bones. The dusted had returned but Thor’s people were still dead. 

And Loki was still gone; he had not come charging through one of Strange’s portals in a blaze of glory to join the final battle. 

Thor realized he had been waiting for it to be the grandest trick of all. It would be just like Loki to wait years and years, make Thor believe he was _ truly _ dead, only to tumble forth at the eleventh hour with his wicked grin,  _ gotcha!  _ spilling from his lips. The little shit. 

Realizing it  _ wasn’t _ a trick -  _ Loki is dead, Lokiisdead, Lokiisnotcomingback _ \- was nearly as hard as watching Loki die in the first place. 

Thor coughs. He stares at the fire, watching as it blurs before his eyes. His nose tingles and the back of his throat is tight. “It isn’t _ fair. _ ”

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until Quill and Rabbit glance up at Thor, their conversation pausing. 

“What?” says Rabbit. 

Thor hates the way they look at him. His shoulders rise and fall and he sips his beer. “I have an idea,” he says, and it’s not until he glances back at the fire that he realizes he  _ does _ have an idea. “My brother deserves a funeral.” 

Quill and Rabbit exchange a glance. “Hasn’t your brother been dead for, like, five years?” Quill asks, with his usual tact. “You’re just now deciding this?” 

“It’s never too late to mourn the dead.” The words come from Mantis; she and Drax are approaching, carrying rations from the ship to eat for an evening meal. “You shouldn’t mock.” 

Quill has the grace to look embarrassed. 

“I need a body,” Thor says, aloud but mostly to himself. 

Rabbit snorts. “ _ Any _ body, or your brother’s specifically?” 

“Why, do you just have bodies laying around?” Quill asks. 

“I am Groot,” says Tree.  _ Yeah, he does. _

“Body  _ parts, _ ” Rabbit corrects. “I mean, not real ones; I like the machinery, you know. Got a bunch of spare parts - uh figuratively speaking. Maybe a little literally. Been collecting to build, uh,  _ something _ \- but, you can have some, if you need them.” The last part is directed at Thor. 

Knowing Rabbit and how possessive he is over his belongings, it is truly a touching gesture. “I appreciate your generosity, Sweet Rabbit,” he says. “But only my brother’s body will do.” 

Drax sits down beside Quill and begins using his knife to open up a can of food. “Surely your brother’s body is long gone by now,” he says. 

“Yeah, wouldn’t it make more sense to do a symbolic kind of thing?” asks Quill. 

“No.” Thor finishes off his beer and tosses the bottle to the ground. Then he reaches into his own pack, sitting by his feet, and rummages around for a moment before turning up with a flask. 

He unscrews the cap and takes a cautionary sniff. The stale bourbon he’d filled it with before they’d left their last stop wasn’t his first choice, but it was better than nothing. 

“How do you intend to retrieve his body?” asks Mantis. 

“Go back to where it fell.” Thor downs about half the flask’s contents in a single sip. “It’ll have been kept in space, I believe.” 

A possibility that crossed Thor’s mind often but that, until now, he hadn’t wanted to dwell on. Loki’s body, wrapped up in the unrelenting, frozen grip of space. Loki, still where the _ Statesman  _ had fallen, sleeping among the stars. 

“You really want to go back there?” asks Rabbit. “I mean, doesn’t it stand to reason that the, uh, the  _ other _ bodies would still be there, too?” 

Thor’s brow furrows. “I suppose so … but, well _. No one _ got a funeral, so …” 

He’d just have to have a mass funeral. Shame on him for not having thought of it before, in fact. His people had been slaughtered in droves - what if their souls had been lingering all this time, unable to pass to Valhalla because Thor was so stupid and  _ careless, _ so wrapped up in himself, he’d not even thought to give them a proper funeral?

_ Loki  _ would have thought of a funeral. He had mentioned it, in fact, before … well,  _ before. _ In passing, in the hours after Ragnarok, he’d mentioned fashioning the illusion of fire to symbolically pay respects without damaging the  _ Statesman.  _

Why hadn’t Thor followed through? 

Right - they’d gotten busy. This or that issue had popped up, everything was disorganized and hectic. They’d had a scant few days adrift before Thanos attacked, and they’d wasted that time on logistical concerns. 

Thor could count on one hand the number of times he and Loki spoke during those days. 

If Thor had  _ known _ , if he’d had any inkling of what was to befall them, he’d have spent every single minute of those precious, wasted days as close to Loki as possible. 

Everything is very quiet. Thor looks up. He realizes that he’s disappeared into his own thoughts again, had tuned out everyone else - but, they’re all staring at him and,  _ oh, _ right, he’d been saying something, hadn’t he? 

The funeral. Yes. 

“I think I’ll depart at daybreak,” he says, and finishes the rest of what is in his flask. 

“Alone?” asks Drax, after a beat. No one seems quite sure what to say.

“Alone,” Thor confirms. 

* * *

He takes the escape pod, several days’ worth of rations, Quill’s alcohol stash, and Stormbreaker. Drax offers to accompany him, and then Rabbit and Tree, and finally even Quill suggests maybe Thor might like him to “come along or something, make sure you don’t die.” 

In the end, though, Thor ventures out alone. 

The Guardians all think he’s crazy, but - well, he _ is  _ kind of crazy, so it doesn’t matter. Besides, even  _ if  _ he wanted the company, the Guardians would not do. The graveyard of a thousand Asgardians is hallowed ground (or, well, hallowed  _ space _ ) and the Guardians have all the subtlety of a pack of bilgesnipes. 

Quill’s rock songs, Drax’s blunt, inappropriate remarks, Rabbit’s grouchiness … the attributes Thor finds so endearing in the Guardians would be downright  _ offensive _ in the space where the Asgardians lie. 

Thor remembers the coordinates. He hadn’t realized he remembered them until he puts them into the navigation system and they flow from his fingers by muscle memory alone. The last time he’d entered them, it had been to broadcast their location as the _ Statesman  _ sent out its frantic distress call for someone, anyone, to help them.

By the time the Guardians showed up, it was too late. 

Thor would never know if anyone else turned up later. 

Entering the coordinates makes Thor cry. He sits in the pilot’s seat and gazes out at the stars through a watery eye, sipping the liquor he’d stolen from Quill. He doesn’t make a sound. 

Most of the journey passes like that. 

It’s long going. Thor doesn’t know how long. Time has ceased to exist. The escape pod runs on an artificial solar cycle, but the dimming and brightening of the lights all blur together and Thor stops noticing. He watches the stars, and runs his fingers along Stormbreaker’s blade, and he ponders what he will find when he reaches his destination. 

Reality sets in somewhere around the halfway point. Thor pictures all of the bodies, possibly frozen beyond recognition. He imagines Loki’s body, mangled enough just after he’d died, let alone what it would look like five years hence. 

Broken bones. Blood. Bruises. 

Thor can’t breathe. His throat closes and his skin crawls, and he hears the sound of Loki’s corpse hitting the blood-soaked ground, again and again.

_ Thud. Thud. Thud.  _

_ Thudthudthud, _ it gets so loud that Thor begins to feel like the corpse is right here in the escape pod  _ with _ him, falling over and over again. 

His breath is coming in short gasps. He is crying. Blindly, Thor reaches for his pack and fumbles around; he’s seeking a drink, but he finds a food package and grabs that instead. 

With trembling fingers, he tears open the package. He focuses on the crinkling paper, on the texture of the meal bar. He takes a bite and forces himself to count how many times he chews before he swallows. It tastes like chocolate. It tastes like nothing. 

He chokes down the meal bar and, when it is gone, Thor feels marginally less panicked. But his pulse still skitters through his veins and he opens another ration bar. And then another. 

Open. Crinkle. Chew, chew, chew, swallow. Do it again. Nothing else exists. Breathe. Open. Crinkle. Chew, chew, chew, swallow. Do it again. 

Breathe. 

By the time the panic has faded, all of Thor’s rations are gone. 

Perhaps, it’s just as well. 

* * *

With no more food, Thor relies on his alcohol to sustain him for the rest of the journey. It doesn’t fill him up much, but it does make him forget about being hungry for awhile. There’s the added bonus of drowsy inebriation - that feeling where nothing is solid or real and he is weightless and drifting. 

Thor almost doesn’t notice when he arrives. It’s only the control panel beeping, signaling that he’s reached his destination, that makes this pocket of space any different from what Thor’s been flying through for days. 

He’d been expecting chaos. There’s an image in his mind, a memory of what this space had looked like after Thanos. Burning debris - hot metal and broken fragments of the  _ Statesman. _ Bodies everywhere. Lingering fire and the smell of death clinging to his own skin.

Instead, the sky is empty. 

There are no Asgardian remains, no graveyard of frozen ghosts. There is no debris, nothing left of the  _ Statesman. _ There is only scattered space dust, a few drifting rocks, and the glimmer of faraway stars. 

As the control panel  _ beeps, beeps, beeps _ , Thor bursts into tears. 

They’re sudden and violent; they knock him off his feet. Thor collapses beside the pilot’s chair and rakes his hands through his unkempt hair. He yanks hard on the strands and squeezes his eyes shut, as if that will block out the void of all the empty space around him. 

_ Please, please, _ he silently pleads,  _ I need something. It cannot be gone. Asgard cannot be gone. Loki cannot be gone, Loki, please.  _

He isn’t sure if he’s thinking the words or actually speaking them; they’re muffled beneath his sobs either way. Thor presses his face into his knees and cries - for Asgard, for the innocent people whose lives were stolen away. He cries for Loki, and he even cries for Odin and Frigga. 

Each loss hits him again and again, as painful as the first time. 

He is utterly alone.

* * *

After he cries himself out, Thor falls into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When he awakens, everything seems much darker. The escape pod’s lights have dimmed in its artificial solar cycle, signaling that, were he planetside, it would probably be dusk. 

Thor rubs his face. He’s exhausted and waterlogged. He pats his pockets for a handkerchief and, finding none, blows his nose on the sleeve of his robe. It’s gross, but - well,  _ he’s  _ gross, and no one’s here to judge him anyway. 

He wipes his sleeve on his pants, rubbing out the wet spots, and then reaches for a drink. He’s on his last bottle of whiskey and there’s not much left. Sooner or later, Thor will have to find somewhere to land. He needs to drink something besides alcohol and, even though Rabbit often tells him he’s fat enough now to sustain himself for months on end, he needs to eat, too. 

Thor tips his head back, nearly draining the bottle. He swirls the little bit left in the bottom, eyeing it critically and wishing he knew how to magically replenish the supply. A silly magic trick Loki knew how to do. Thor would give his left eye for it now. 

Would anyone notice if Thor never came back? 

There’s a cold churning in his gut as he stares at the whiskey. Who would miss him? 

Not the Guardians. They’d assume he’d wandered off somewhere after the Asgardian funeral; they’d probably be pissed off that he didn’t return their escape pod, but it would be a small annoyance weighed against the relief they’d feel to be rid of him. 

Not New Asgard. Valkyrie is king now, and Thor has failed his people threefold: when he’d failed to save them from slaughter, when he’d retreated into his own little beer-and-Fortnite filled hole, and when he’d left Earth behind completely, seeking to find himself and only coming up emptier than before. 

He’d stopped being king long before handing Valkyrie the throne, but trading it away would have only cemented his disgrace in the eyes of his people.  _ Good riddance,  _ he’s certain the Asgardians have said.

Thor would fade away to legend: the mad would-be king of fallen Asgard. 

Funny, that title used to belong to Loki. 

But, Loki did always complain that Thor took everything from him. Anyway, Loki is dead and it’s not a particularly flattering title, so he probably would not mind if Thor took it for himself. 

So New Asgard would not miss him. 

And the Avengers? There is nothing left of them anymore - all of Thor’s friends are gone. Tony and Nat are dead, Steve is either dead or dying, Bruce is … whatever he is now. That leaves Clint, who’s the only one who truly won anything in the war. He has his family back, and he and Thor were never close, anyway. 

No, Thor is alone and there’s no one in all the Nine Realms or beyond who’d care if he vanished. He could take Stormbreaker and travel to the far ends of the universe, or he could simply sit out here and wait for his oxygen to run out. 

He could die out here, and no one would ever know what happened to him. He’d just be  _ gone.  _

The thought is both tempting and incredibly depressing. Thor swallows the last bit of whiskey and wishes for more. He wishes he had Loki’s magic. He wishes he had anything that was Loki’s. 

He doesn’t even have a picture of his brother. 

Thor closes his eyes. He grips the neck of the whiskey bottle and presses it hard enough to crack, and then he breaks off a jagged piece and presses the shard into his arm. 

Not hard, barely enough to bleed. Like burning himself with flames, Thor only needs the physical reminder of where he is. He needs to surface before he drowns underneath his own depression. 

Thor drags the glass across the skin of his forearm a few more times and then, when he’s satisfied with the tiny drops of blood and the faint sting, he lets the shard drop. 

He will not die out here. 

What he needs is a plan. He needs to figure out where the closest planet is, hope it isn’t hostile, and scrounge up either coin or trade to get himself some food and water. When that is taken care of … 

Back to the Guardians, Thor supposes. 

Thor rolls the whiskey bottle back and forth in his hands. He won’t tell them about what he found - or, rather, what he  _ didn’t _ find. They don’t need to know. 

No, he’ll tell them about the glorious funeral he wishes he’d had for the Asgardians, here in their silent cemetery. It would have been majestic: the preserved bodies set sail to the ends of the universe inside boats made of stars, accompanied by the fire to end all fires, with flames in every color imaginable. 

There will have been a million glimmering mage lights floating into the air and, best of all, the glittering essences of a thousand Asgardian souls departing for Valhalla would create a light so brilliant and radiant that its shine would still be hitting planets all over the galaxy for a hundred years or more. 

Yes, that is what Thor will say. 

Something slams into the escape pod. 

Thor jumps and drops the whiskey bottle. He isn’t sure if he really heard something, or if his imagination is playing tricks on him. Except - usually, when he’s imagining things, it’s when he’s in the throes of a panic attack. Thor had just gotten _ past _ a panic attack, so perhaps it’s a delayed reaction? 

For a few moments, there’s silence, and then he hears the thud again. Thor hesitates, and then pushes himself to his feet. He approaches the window cautiously, peeking out. At first, he doesn’t see anything but the same old empty space. 

He’s losing it. He’s  _ really  _ losing it. 

Thor sighs and bends over, picking up the bottle. He shakes it, desperate for a few drops. His nerves are beyond shot. 

Suddenly, a large, dark lump crashes into the window. Thor yells in surprise, brandishing the empty whiskey bottle out of instinct. 

He is definitely not imagining it - something is out there. 

“Show yourself!” Thor shouts. 

It’s hard to see; the lump is covered in ice and Thor’s vision is blurred from alcohol and tears. He thinks he can see an arm, perhaps the outline of a pair of boots. His heart leaps into his throat and, although he is aware that his mind may be playing desperate tricks on him, he presses his face closer to the glass to try and get a better look at what is possibly a body. 

It _ is  _ a body. 

It’s very dark but, as Thor stares, he can make out a hand, the fingers of which are curled up. Those are definitely boots, and though the face is turned away, Thor makes out long, dark hair frozen in motion and glittering with ice. 

Loki’s body? 

_ Loki’s body!  _

Thor yelps and drops the whiskey bottle. It’s too good to be true, but Thor doesn’t care. He crashes around, heedless of the small space, until he makes it to the airlock door. Then, it’s only a matter of venturing out just far enough to wrap his arms around the body and drag it back inside. 

With a sound that borders on a sob, Thor tumbles back into the escape pod, Loki’s body entangled in his arms. He barely remembers to close the door again before he crushes Loki’s body to his. 

Now that he can see his face, it is definitely Loki - and he  _ can’t  _ be imagining this, because he can  _ feel _ Loki, he’s real and solid and it’s like hugging a block of ice but Thor barely even registers the shock of cold because he’s weeping, and smoothing his hand over frozen black hair, and it looks like Loki will get to have a funeral after all. 

* * *

The escape pod is barely big enough for Thor to lay Loki’s body out, but he makes do. He finds spare blankets tucked away in a compartment and he uses them for a makeshift bed, so that Loki is not laying on the dirty pod floor. 

Thor can’t believe it. What are the odds that the only intact body would be Loki’s? 

He kneels down beside his brother and touches his frozen hair, blinking back tears. Have the norns decided to reward Thor with this gift? But Thor has done nothing to deserve this. 

A dream, then. 

But he can still feel the faint sting of where he’d cut himself with the wine bottle glass, and that must mean that he is awake. 

He can feel Loki, too. Thor’s never felt anything so cold as Loki’s body, but it’s _ there.  _ He’s completely preserved and whole, just … frozen solid from the inside out. 

His skin - what Thor can see of it, anyway, for Loki is still wearing what he’d died in and isn’t that weird, that his clothes would be intact too? - is very blue and Thor doesn’t know if that’s because Loki is Jotun or if it’s because he’s just  _ that _ frozen. 

Thor will have to let him thaw out. Yes. That’s what he’ll do. He’ll thaw Loki out and then comb his hair and fold up his hands. He’ll make sure Loki’s body is perfect and beautiful before he - 

Before he what? Sends him back out into the void? 

Thor makes a choked sound as he swallows back a wave of tears. The thought of losing Loki’s body so soon after having found it is unbearable. But isn’t this what he came for? If Loki doesn’t have a funeral, he can’t get to Valhalla. 

Thor doesn’t want him trapped between worlds. Thor has been selfish enough for both of their lifetimes already. He can’t keep the body, even though he wants nothing more than to curl up beside it and never let it go. 

He wipes his eye and decides to put off worrying about it. He lays down on the floor beside Loki’s body, turning onto his side so that he can study every detail. It’s hard to believe that Loki is really here. After so many years of Thor’s last memories of Loki playing on a loop inside his mind, here is Loki’s face and skin and hair, solid beneath Thor’s fingertips. 

“I’m sorry, brother,” Thor whispers. His voice is hoarse from lack of use. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. And I’m sorry … I’m sorry for everything else.” 

He doesn’t need to explain what he means by everything else. Loki will know. 

Thor closes his eyes. He runs his fingers along Loki’s hair, and if he tries very, very hard, he can almost pretend that he can hear Loki breathing. 

* * *

There’s a small, inhabited planet called Ersa 4 that isn’t a terribly far journey, so Thor sets the navigation system to take him there. He’d rather stay drifting in space, but the lack of food and water is starting to really become an issue. 

Besides, it will take a few days for Loki’s body to thaw, so Thor has time to kill before he begins the funeral preparations. 

On Ersa 4, Thor finds a rooming house. His account is embarrassingly small, especially for a former royal, but he tends to spend the coin he earns with the Guardians on drink and doesn’t save much. The cost of a room for a few nights clears out the rest of what’s in his account, but the proprietor is willing to barter with him on credit to include meals and a couple of changes of clothes. 

He gets what he pays for. The room is rather small, and getting Loki’s body there is difficult. Thor does not want to draw attention to himself by carrying it in, but wrapping it up in the bundle of blankets from the escape pod is not exactly inconspicuous, either. 

Therefore, he can’t avoid earning more than a few curious looks as he makes his way to his room with Loki’s body, swaddled and hidden in blankets, hoisted over one shoulder and Stormbreaker over the other. 

Once he’s in the room, Thor takes great care to lay Loki’s body on the bed. The body is still very cold, but it’s started to thaw out some. The warm temperature of the room helps. 

There isn’t much he can do about Loki’s clothes, although he hates seeing him in the dirty old leathers he’d been wearing when he died. Thor settles for taking a damp washcloth and cleaning the clothes as much as possible. He wipes away grime, space dust, and ice. Then he cleans Loki’s face of the remnants of dried, frozen blood and arranges his still-icy hair so that it covers his neck. 

His neck is awful to look at. It’s clearly broken, the bones sitting at an odd angle, and there are bruises around Loki’s throat that are so dark they are practically black. With shaking fingers, Thor lightly touches the bruises; then, he drops the washcloth and presses his face to Loki’s chest. 

How can he still look so injured after all this time? Looking at his neck reminds Thor of how  _ hard _ Loki had struggled in Thanos’s grip, and how in the end - after that final, sickening  _ crunch  _ \- he’d died anyway. 

Even now, in death, Loki doesn’t look peaceful. It’s obvious his death was horrific; his body has frozen in a haunting tableau that will only remind Thor, again and again, how much Loki had suffered. 

How deeply Thor had failed him. 

Loki had looked so helpless. So  _ small.  _

He was Thor’s baby brother, and Thor couldn’t save him. 

Loki’s chest becomes damp with Thor’s tears. Perhaps, that helps the thawing process a little. 

* * *

A few days pass. 

On the second day, Thor goes out and gets provisions on credit - rations, some barbering tools, and a decent amount of alcohol. 

He will be spending much of the next few days sitting around, waiting for Loki to thaw, and he wants to be as drunk as possible during those days so that he will not have to wait alone with his thoughts. 

He eats a meal in the rooming house kitchen and then carries his provisions back to his quarters. He checks on Loki’s body. He’s decided that, once the body is ready, Thor will use Stormbreaker to take them to Vanaheim. It was Asgard’s sister-realm, the only place where Thor has any family left, though he has never been particularly close to his mother’s cousins, who hold the Vanir throne. 

On Vanaheim, Thor will barter for a boat and use of the palace’s waterways. He will request that King Freyr and Queen Freyja join him in the memorial service. He will give Loki a prince’s funeral, and then, when the body is gone and Thor has watched Loki’s essence glimmer away into Valhalla, then he will return to the Guardians. 

He’s already dreading burning Loki’s body, but he hopes - dear norns, he  _ hopes _ \- that a proper funeral for Loki will be what Thor needs to finally feel closure.

Thor is desperate to stop hurting so deeply. 

Satisfied with his plan, Thor settles in to wait. He spends the rest of the second day and the entirety of the third day in a drunken stupor, going through most of his alcohol while staring at Loki’s body. He does not wish to think, and so he doesn’t.

He dozes on and off, and cries a little, but mostly he drinks and he waits. 

On the fourth day, Thor sleeps it off. 

On the fifth day, it’s time to prepare. 

He takes a very long shower, washing his hair thoroughly. He scrubs every inch of his skin, trying not to hate himself for all of the softer, squishy bits. He scrubs himself raw, as if he can wash away the last five years of grime and grief and emerge a king once more. 

It doesn’t really work. 

His body is  _ clean _ , but when he stares at himself in the mirror, he still sees the extra mass, unkempt hair, and too-long beard. Up and down his left forearm, wrist, and hand, there’s a rather impressive - in Thor’s opinion - collection of tiny scars from his burns and cuts, like art. 

Those things, perhaps, can be fixed … but, what bothers Thor the most is that his haggard face tells the truth of his wallowing misery and that, he cannot change. 

Dear norns, what Freyr and Freyja will think when they see him. What they will think and be too kind to say. 

Thor wipes the tears from his eye. Then he dresses in a fresh change of clothes. He takes the barbering tools he’d purchased and cuts most of his beard off, leaving just enough to trim and groom close to his jaw. 

His hair is another story entirely. He literally can’t remember the last time he’d bothered with a comb. It would be easier to cut it all off; but, even though his hair is disgusting, Thor cannot bear losing it again. 

He battles with it instead, doing the best he can to work out all of the knots and tangles. Some, he does have to cut off. He braids the uneven parts to hide them and, when he’s finished, his hair is not exactly soft and tangle-free, but it looks much more like it used to. 

That taken care of, Thor slides clean, dark, fingerless gloves over his hands and takes in his entire appearance. He looks much better; it would not do to show disrespect to Loki by looking unkempt at his funeral, but Thor cannot help but acknowledge that  _ better _ is still not very _ good.  _

He was handsome once. 

It doesn’t matter now. 

Thor stands in front of the mirror for a long time, running his fingers over the stubble on his chin. He stands there so long that he loses himself in his thoughts and the room dims around him as afternoon fades to twilight. 

When he notices how dark the room has become, he closes his eyes and turns away from the mirror, inhaling and exhaling a few breaths to collect himself. He needs to eat something, and possibly drink water, and then he’ll get some sleep before taking his brother’s body to Vanaheim. 

When he opens his eyes, Loki is sitting up and staring at him. 

Thor screams. He screams louder than he’s probably ever screamed in his life. His heart is in his throat and his entire body jolts like he’s just been electrocuted with the lightning in his own veins; he feels it from the inside out. 

“What -” Loki starts to say, but the word is cut short and he starts to cough instead. He coughs and tries to breathe but can’t seem to get enough air. 

Thor claps his hands over his own mouth to stop the screams he can’t seem to help. The sight of Loki choking triggers something in him, and Thor practically leaps over to the bed, grabbing Loki by the shoulders. He thumps on Loki’s back, which does nothing except make Loki groan, but a moment later he starts dragging in lungfuls of air in huge gasps that make him sound like he’s wheezing. 

“Oh, my god,” Thor says, hardly believing his eyes. He wonders if he’s hallucinating. “Loki?” 

Loki wheezes a few more times, and then hunches his shoulders. Thor can hear the snapping of bones as Loki lowers his head, his hair - thawed and damp, but still glittering with remnants of ice - falling over his face like a curtain. He’s shivering. 

“Loki?” Thor says again. 

Slowly, Loki lifts his head. 

He looks  _ horrible _ . Thor actually gasps. Loki’s skin is still pale blue, although some of the pink has started to return. His eyes are glassy, somewhere between green and red, and they look so empty that fear coils in Thor’s belly and makes him swallow hard. 

Worst of all is his neck. What looked like oddly tilted bones before now forces Loki’s head to angle that should not be possible. Sitting up, Loki’s broken neck is a much more prominent - and incredibly unnerving - sight. 

It’s so unnerving, in fact, that Thor can’t help but wonder if this is not really Loki. Perhaps this is some kind of other-worldly  _ thing _ that has possessed Loki’s body. Perhaps, the norns saw fit not to reward Thor but to  _ punish _ him by returning Loki’s body, inhabited with something evil and dire. 

Loki is staring at Thor as if he has no idea who Thor is. Thor backs up, his heart thudding so loudly that Loki must hear it, too. 

They stay like that for what seems like ages: Thor, terrified and frozen, staring at Loki; Loki, shivering, bedraggled, and looking very dead, his unblinking gaze fixed on Thor. 

Then, finally, Loki whispers, “Thor? Is that you?” and the terror drains from Thor’s body like a wave receding from the shore. 

“It’s me,” Thor says. He lifts a hand, reaching out to Loki, only to draw back before he can make contact. “Is that  _ you? _ ” 

“I think so.” Loki starts to move his head, as if to straighten it out, but immediately he cries out in pain. He lifts his own hand and gingerly touches his neck, whimpering a little when his fingers graze the bent angle. “Where are we? What … what am I doing here?” 

“I don’t know,” Thor says blankly; he’s just as confused as Loki is, considering that he thought Loki was  _ dead _ . A beat passes, and he decides to say it aloud: “You died. You’re dead. You  _ were  _ dead. I thought … I thought you were dead.” 

Loki winces. He clenches his teeth and manages to lower himself so that he’s laying down again. Then he closes his eyes and says, “Oh. That.” 

Thor blinks.  _ Oh, that? _ As if Loki has just remembered he’d forgotten to eat breakfast that morning. “Yes,  _ that _ ,” he says, and frowns. “Are you dead or aren’t you?” 

“It would seem I am not,” Loki says. 

His voice is so  _ familiar. _ It is unused, so it’s rough and every other word or so sounds more like air than syllables, but it is  _ Loki’s  _ voice - deep and elegant, his accented tones so much more aristocratic than Thor’s own. The sound of it is woven into Thor’s bones. 

Thor starts to cry. He stares at Loki - whose chest, Thor can now see, is very slightly rising and falling - and his voice echoes in Thor’s ears and all Thor can do is sit there and  _ sob, _ because is this really happening? Is Loki truly alive? 

Has he had his  _ gotcha!  _ moment after all? 

But Loki doesn’t seem as though he’s just pulled off a great, wicked trick. He still seems like he’s dead - except for the breathing and the talking. “Loki,” Thor gets out, through his tears.

Loki opens his eyes. His features are drawn in so much confusion, and that just makes Thor cry harder.

“Why are you crying?” Loki asks. 

Why is he  _ crying? _ “Because you _ died,  _ you asshole,” Thor manages. “Don’t you remember?”

“No.” Loki frowns. “Yes, a little. I don’t … I’m so _ tired,  _ Thor.” 

The correct, normal response to that would be to let Loki sleep. To let him rest. Instead, panic surges through Thor - perhaps, Loki is still in-between worlds and he does not have enough energy to truly live. If he rests, will he die for real? 

Thor grabs Loki, pulling his brother’s body to his own in a hug so crushing that Loki probably would have cried out in pain even if it  _ wasn’t _ for his injuries. 

Thor immediately lets Loki go. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just - I can’t believe you’re alive. You  _ died. _ ” 

“Yes, we’ve established that.” Loki coughs, struggling to catch his breath. “Though it would seem I didn’t  _ actually  _ die; otherwise, everything wouldn’t hurt so much. So can you please keep your enthusiastic embraces to a minimum?” 

“You goddamn little shit,” Thor says, letting out what is supposed to be a laugh. He chokes on it instead, sniffling loudly. Only Loki could be dead one minute and snarking at Thor the next. “You don’t know what it’s been like.” 

“Tell me,” Loki replies, though he’s already closing his eyes again. “When I wake up again.” 

Thor’s heart clenches. “Promise you  _ will _ wake up again.” 

“I will.” 

He falls asleep very quickly, but Thor stays exactly where he is, his gaze fixed on Loki’s chest, making sure that it continues to rise and fall throughout the night. 

* * *

Loki is in terrible condition. 

In the morning, Thor calls for the rooming house’s proprietor, requesting medical aide. Healers are quickly brought and they transport Loki to a nearby infirmary, where he is examined very thoroughly by the head healer, whose name is Aurelia. 

Thor waits anxiously for news. 

It is hours before Aurelia steps out of the examination room and closes the door gently behind her. Thor cranes his neck, trying to see through the crack before it is closed; all he can make out is Loki, laying prone on the bed.

“Is Loki all right?” Thor demands. 

“He’s alive,” Aurelia says, which makes Thor exhale a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “It’s quite remarkable what’s happened, actually. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

She gives him the results of her examination: Loki had not been immediately killed by Thanos breaking his neck. He’d been unconscious but clinging to life and probably would have died had it not been for the explosion of the _ Statesman.  _

While the explosion caused even further trauma to his body, being flung out into the empty vacuum of space had caused Loki’s jotun biology to respond. His body had frozen through almost immediately, a preservation instinct that happened unconsciously. 

The instinct had frozen Loki’s injuries, preventing them from killing him while also preventing them from healing. So Loki had lingered - half-alive, half-dead - until Thor had come for his body. By that time, the Asgardian remains had long disintegrated away, but Loki’s body could last indefinitely in such conditions. 

“Remarkable,” Aurelia says again. 

Thor hovers somewhere between sagging relief and confused shock. He understands it, scientifically, but he cannot believe that all this time, Loki has just  _ been there.  _

What if Thor had never decided to go back for the body? 

“Can I see him?” Thor asks. 

The healer nods. “He’ll need to stay here indefinitely. His injuries are quite severe.” She runs down everything that is wrong with Loki: surface-level cuts and bruises, of course; two broken ribs on the left side and one cracked rib on the right; significant internal bleeding and damage to his organs; tracheal damage. 

“The most severe injury is, of course, the broken cervical vertebra,” she concludes. “The bones have been set, and should heal, but it will take time.” 

“Of course. Thank you.” Thor’s vision is blurry. He blinks away tears as he lets himself into Loki’s room. 

Loki is still there, looking very much as he has for the past several days except that his skin is pink once again, all traces of blue vanished. He is hooked up to several tubes that seem to be medicating him intravenously, and there is a small, clear brace around his neck that is holding his neck very straight and rigid.

Thor is very relieved that Loki’s head is not at an angle any more. 

As Thor approaches the bed, he takes in the rest of Loki’s appearance. They’ve changed him out of his battered leathers - Thor hopes they’ve burned them - and dressed him in white infirmary clothes, which only make his complexion even more translucent. His hair looks shockingly dark against all that white, but he looks ethereal, too, and the sight of him causes Thor’s throat to tighten. 

“Loki,” Thor whispers. He lowers himself into a chair beside Loki’s bed and reaches out, closing one gloved hand over his brother’s ice-cold fingers. “Are you awake?” 

“Mhm.” Loki doesn’t open his eyes, or even really move, but he does tighten his fingers around Thor’s hand. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Mostly dead.” Thor watches as Loki swallows with difficulty. 

“I’m sorry, brother.” Thor squeezes Loki’s hand. “Can I … can I get you anything?” 

Loki’s brow furrows in a grimace as he starts to shake his head and then remembers the pain. “No, thank you.” He finally opens his eyes, slowly blinking up at Thor. “You look different, brother. How long did you say it’s been?” 

Thor hadn’t, but he answers anyway. “About five Earth years ... and then some.” He hadn’t been keeping track of time that passed with the Guardians, but it had probably been awhile. 

“Thank you,” Loki says. 

Thor tilts his head. “For what? I didn’t do anything.” 

“You came back.” Loki meets Thor’s gaze; the corners of his lips tilt in a bit of a smile. “I don’t know why you ever would have gone back to that place, but I’m glad you did.” 

“I wanted a funeral,” Thor says, and the words sound very hollow to his ears. He can’t stop thinking about Loki, all alone for years, frozen alive and waiting for Thor. 

Thor should have come sooner. Thor never should have neglected Loki’s funeral; he’d spent years wallowing in self-pity on Earth, and for what? He’d been so  _ selfish _ , he’s always been so selfish. 

Furthermore, worse scenarios begin spinning around in Thor’s head. 

What if he’d burned Loki’s body before it had thawed enough for Loki to wake? 

What if he’d left the Asgardian graveyard before Loki’s body had collided with the escape pod? 

Loki is back, and he is safe, but it’s only by the most miniscule amount of luck that Thor had not missed him entirely. Thor had come so close to losing Loki again, and he wouldn’t have even _ known. _ . 

“Thor?” Loki is watching him. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Thor draws in a shaky breath and tries to smile. “I just … I’m really glad you’re here.” 

Loki’s features relax a little. “You should know better than to think you’d be rid of me that easily,” he says. “I’ve died before, after all.” 

_ So, dead brother, huh?  _

_ Well, he’s been dead before. But this time, I think it might really be true.  _

Loki has unknowingly echoed the first real conversation Thor had ever had with Rabbit, and it throws Thor off-guard. It throws him back to the hours just after Thanos’s slaughter; Thor had been running on pure rage, had barely stopped to grieve before it was too late. 

After half the universe died, there was only time for self-hatred and loathing. 

But Loki had been alive. The whole time. 

“I’m sorry,” Thor manages to get out before something deep inside of him breaks. His chin wobbles and he closes his eyes, trying to swallow back a sob. 

It doesn’t work. The tears spill forth and, still gripping tightly to Loki’s hand, Thor collapses forward, his forehead landing on the soft white shirt covering Loki’s abdomen. It must hurt, but Loki doesn’t complain. 

Thor cries, possibly harder than he’s ever cried before. 

He can’t seem to stop. 

He’s aware of Loki stroking his hair, his movements limited; he hears Loki murmuring  _ shhh  _ very softly, and somehow that makes it all worse because Thor is an awful, horrible, selfish brother and he doesn’t deserve Loki’s comfort. 

But Loki continues to give it. 

* * *

Eventually, the tears run dry. Thor lays his head on Loki’s chest for awhile, listening to the soft  _ thump-thump  _ of Loki’s heart beating. Loki continues to stroke Thor’s hair, lazily, until his fingers snag on a tangle and he says, “Honestly, Thor,  _ what  _ is wrong with your hair?” 

Thor laughs. So typical of Loki. “I tried to comb it,” he says, straightening up. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job.” 

“Did you only comb it once in the last five years?” Loki wants to know. 

“Well.” Thor tilts his head a little, thinking about it. “I suppose so.” 

“Dear norns.” Loki closes his eyes and grimaces, either in pain or in exasperation. Possibly both. “When I am recovered, I shall tend to your hair properly.” He opens his eyes again and studies Thor. “It’s not beyond hope.” 

“You should have seen it before I combed it,” Thor remarks, laughing again, because it suddenly just seems so terribly funny. 

“I’m glad I didn’t.” Loki arches an eyebrow, but a smile tugs the corners of his mouth. “And your eye … weren’t you missing an eye, before?” 

“It’s fake,” Thor explains. “I got it from … from a friend.” He doesn’t feel like explaining the Guardians just now. 

“Mm.” Loki offers no further commentary on the eye, so it must pass his inspection. He also offers no commentary on the weight Thor has gained, which relieves Thor more than he thought it should.

“Do you need anything?” Thor asks, after awhile. “Some water, maybe?” 

“Yes … yes, water would be good.” 

Drinking turns out to be more difficult than Thor had anticipated. Loki’s bed can be adjusted so that he’s in more of a sitting position, but even so, he cannot move his head at all, and Thor’s hands are shaking inexplicably as he tries to bring the water glass to Loki’s lips. The result leaves them with more water on Loki’s shirt than in his mouth.

“Maybe a straw,” Loki suggests. 

“Oh. Right.” Thor’s cheeks feel hot - why hadn’t he thought of that? “I’ll try to find one.” 

Once the straw has been retrieved, it’s much easier for Loki to drink. Thor holds the glass while Loki sips through the straw, and when Loki finally says, “Okay, that’s enough,” the glass is nearly empty. 

“What about food?” Thor asks, setting the glass on the bedside table. “Do you want some food?” 

“No.” Loki gingerly lifts his shirt, revealing not just his concave stomach and the medicinal tape around his ribs, but also a tube, which has been inserted just above his navel. “Apparently, this is feeding me as we speak.” 

“Oh.” Thor grimaces. “Shit - did I bother it when I …” He trails off, gesturing a bit awkwardly to indicate the complete, sobbing breakdown that had happened on Loki’s stomach. Careless, careless. 

“No,” Loki says again. He drops the hem of his shirt. “Brother, you’re different.” 

“I know. You mentioned it.” Thor self-consciously tugs at his dark shirt, and then folds his arms, as if that will hide how much  _ more  _ there is of him now. Perhaps, he’d been too quick to assume that Loki wouldn’t mention it. 

“Not how you look,” Loki responds. He presses his lips together in a thin line. “You’re very …” The sentence hangs; Loki stares at Thor while seemingly trying to come up with a descriptor. 

In the end, he can’t find one. He exhales, and then winces. Tears spring to his green eyes and Thor hurries forward, gingerly hovering. “Are you okay?” 

“Breathing hurts,” Loki says, and lets out a weak laugh. “Everything hurts, but breathing especially. Rather inconvenient, in my opinion.” 

Thor hesitates, and then brushes his palm over Loki’s forehead. Loki’s skin is still very cold to the touch, but Thor lets his fingers trail down into Loki’s hair and is glad to find it soft and warm, all traces of ice long gone. 

“You’re different too,” he says, and it’s both true and not true. Loki’s the same, yet there’s a new air about him, something gentle and patient. He has yet to snap at Thor and, in fact, seems to be showing Thor much more kindness than Thor could ever deserve. 

“I feel different,” Loki says. He fumbles for the switch that adjusts the bed, and lowers himself back down a bit. “I’ve been dreaming all this time; I thought it was Valhalla, that I had earned my spot there after all. I didn’t feel …. the way I used to feel. You know.” 

Yes, Thor knows.  _ Broken.  _ It’s the word for what Loki used to be; it’s the word he’d been searching for to describe Thor now. 

Thor lets go of Loki’s hair and twists his hands together, thinking. What if it was not just a dream - what if Loki really _ had  _ been in Valhalla? Was it possible he had died, only it didn’t take? 

It wouldn’t be the first time. 

His brother is such an anomaly. Even when they were children, there was something that set Loki apart from the others. It wasn’t just his introverted nature, or his tendency to indulge in study rather than training; he was just  _ different,  _ in a way that Thor had never been able to put his finger on. 

The things about Loki that set him apart had been his downfall, in the end; yet, perhaps, they are also his salvation. 

Thor can see it plainly now: Loki exists in a different place than the rest of them and he could not have been ordinary if he tried. Certainly, he  _ had  _ tried their whole lives. 

But Loki’s was a fire that could not be put out. Like energy, it could shift and move and change; the flames could darken with rage and lighten with love. But it could not be diminished, and trying would only ensure that it came back again and again, more intense than ever. 

Death cannot touch Loki because Loki  _ transcends  _ death. 

Thor cannot believe he’d never seen it before. 

It’s as Loki said:  _ the sun will shine on us again. _

“Thor?” 

Loki’s voice brings Thor back to himself. He blinks at his brother, who is looking at him with his brow slightly furrowed. “Where did you go just now?” Loki asks. 

“Nowhere.” Thor exhales. He sits back down in the chair by Loki’s bedside and takes off one of his fingerless gloves. Reaching over, he takes Loki’s hand, sliding their palms together, fingers laced tight. “I’m right here with you.” 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Please excuse my poor excuse for science/biology and let's all pretend Jotuns Work Like That. 
> 
> 2\. I left this kind of open-ended because I more than likely will want to revisit this in a follow up. I have other WIPs I need to get back to writing, but I do have kind of a vision for a Part Two, where Loki is mostly recovered and he and Thor have to figure out how to exist together again. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this! Please leave me comments, they make me feel shiny. <3 <3 <3


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